


Resurrection is No Small Matter

by CallMeCheerios



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Harry Hart Lives, Harry Hart had a bit of a martyr complex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Eggsy, Pining Harry Hart, Post-Canon Fix-It, because they're idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:11:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeCheerios/pseuds/CallMeCheerios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been eight months--eight, long, torturous months since V-Day. Eight months since the world came perilously close to ending, since Eggsy became a Kingsman, since Harry had been shot. Perhaps eight gruelling months of field work had finally caught up with Eggsy. There was absolutely no way the man sitting behind the big oak desk was actually Harry Hart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has alternating POVs. This chapter is from Eggsy's perspective.

It had been eight months--eight, long, torturous months since V-Day. Eight months since the world came perilously close to ending, since Eggsy became a Kingsman, since Harry had been shot. In those eight months there had been good days and bad days. Days where getting out of bed was harder than any earthly task had the right to be, and days when it seemed like maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.

Today was one of those days where the sky didn’t seem so damn dark—although this is London we’re talking about. The weather was notoriously gloomy after all. Eggsy had just finished another mission and for once had gotten to sleep in his own bed, in the new house that he shared with his mum and baby sister. It had been unanimously agreed upon, although not without a good deal of grumbling from some, that Eggsy’s actions on V-day (tryst with a Swedish princess notwithstanding) warranted being given the title of Galahad dog test be damned. Him, Roxy, and the rest of the agents had been deployed almost continuously in the wake of V-Day. Clean-up projects abounded thanks to that tree-hugging megalomaniac. It had taken the better part of the year, but the world was starting to right itself, with a little extra help from unnamed men (and one woman) in truly spectacular suits. 

Kingsman, as a whole, had been lucky. They hadn’t lost a single agent, other than Harry and Arthur. But the betrayal of their esteemed leader could have been ruinous. For a not-so-brief few days in the immediate aftermath, a river of distrust had divided the younger agents and Merlin from the rest of the knights. Apart from Merlin, Roxy, and Eggsy, no one knew what had truly transpired: the seasoned agents were less than inclined to believe that Chester would have abandoned their cause for Valentine’s perverse scheme. And yet that was exactly what had happened. 

It didn’t help that Merlin still couldn’t be sure who among the agents had been privy to Chester’s change of heart. What of the older, more traditional men who still sat at the table? How many, if any, of them would have gladly followed Chester’s lead? How many still would? The instinct to distrust is strong among spies. It has to be if they want to last in the field. No one could be instantly assuaged that more trouble wasn’t lurking under the calm exterior the Kingsman Agency prided itself on. It only served to make things worse that they were without an elected leader. The power vacuum left by the demise of Chester was just a micro-example of the greater issues present in the world. Merlin was able to unofficially assume the role of temporary Arthur--mostly because no one else seemed to want the tainted post--but the vast number of the world’s leaders had been vanquished when Merlin set off the implants. So many heads of state were literally headless, rotting among the rubble and viscera, unclaimed by the battered, bitter, and scandalized public.

For the sake of order and the betterment of the already traumatized world, countries left leaderless needed the Kingman’s immediate attention lest the next great super villain choose this opportunity to swiftly rise to power. And so it was that each of the agents found themselves flitting from one country to another across traversing the globe to silently quell rebel groups and ensure that order was established as effortlessly--and stealthily--as possible.

Not every mission could be a success. But soon enough the world began to right itself. The terrors of V-day began to subside, and the world could breathe easy once more--Kingman included. The world would never forget the atrocities of that day. No, this was definitely one for the history books but the general and widespread feeling of being unsafe had dissolved. Merlin had concluded, in between acting as primary handler, weapons designer, and temporary Arthur, that the traitorous Chester King had acted alone. None of the other agents had even been privy to his plan to sit idly by while Valentine dismantled the world and rebuilt it to his own specifications. And that was a relief. 

Kingsman was finally back on track. The tension at the table had all but dissipated especially as the workload dwindled and began to resemble something close to normal. The covert glances and guarded stances indicative of distrust had disappeared—or as much as it could for a spy agency, being suspicious was their livelihood after all. Now all that was left was to meet the new Arthur and continue on doing what they do best.

Despite the early hour of the meeting--Eggsy couldn’t fathom why they had to be there at 9 instead of a reasonable hour like noon--he felt in good spirits. Eggsy knew that the addition of the new Arthur would alleviate a good deal of strain on Merlin. And if Merlin was happy, then the rest of them stood a chance. If Merlin was cross or particularly over-worked, which was his natural state at this point, any agent could receive a vicious tongue lashing and banishment on the worst assignment available for even the slightest misstep. Incidentally that’s how Eggsy ended up spending two weeks at the beginning of August roasting to death on an unshaded rooftop in Rome. The poor lad, rushing to his debrief collided with the bleary-eyed tyrant, spilling his coffee and earning what was surely the iciest glare ever to be delivered. That and a one-way ticket to heat stroke and poor luck. It was the first mission Eggsy had been on that well and truly went tits up. He wasn’t to blame for the poor intelligence that led to two buildings being blown to high heavens and a robust number of stitches gracing his forearms. But it was an experience that he had no desire to repeat. 

Eggsy was pulled from his reverie, stopping in mid stride at the threshold to Arthur’s office. He was certain he was hallucinating. Maybe he hadn’t slept as well as he thought. Perhaps eight grueling months of field work had finally caught up with him. There was absolutely no way the man sitting behind the big oak desk was actually the late Harry Hart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic ever (Kingsman or otherwise). 
> 
> At this point I have no idea how long this will be. I'm aiming for somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 chapters. But since my outline looks like this...
> 
> ~Harry returns  
> ~Eggsy pines  
> ~Harry wines  
> ~Eggsy pines some more  
> ~Merlin is snarky, Roxy is a BAMF  
> ~Eggsy oaks  
> ~Eggsy maples  
> ~Eggsy eucalyptus  
> ~The end
> 
> ...anything is possible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has alternating POVs. This chapter is from Eggsy's perspective.

Eggsy was stuck--his brain desperately urged him to take another step. But his feet just wouldn’t listen. So there he stood, slack jawed and uncomprehending, in the doorway to Arthur’s office. 

“Eggsy, I know knocking has never been your strong suit, but surely you’ve mastered the art of walking by now. Hmmm?” Harry raised his eyebrows in amusement, the smug git. Sitting behind Arthur’s desk as though he hadn’t been shot in the face and believed to be dead for several months, the older man was clearly enjoying Eggsy’s bafflement. 

If seeing was believing, hearing was tantamount to having a religious experience. _That voice._ It was enough to shake Eggsy from his daze. Eggsy took a step back and then another, involuntarily finding himself in the hallway once more. There was nothing but silence coming from Arthur’s office, and so Eggsy took a moment to collect himself. Harry was alive for fuck’s sake! The bastard had been for months while the rest of the world went on without him, while Eggsy tried to reconcile himself with losing the only person in his life who had completely 100% believed in him, the only person who knew what Eggsy was capable of, the only person who ever bothered to push him to be something more, the only person he’d ever loved. 

This revelation hit Eggsy like the force of a hurricane. His emotions swirled and writhed as relief, confusion, betrayal, and outright fury battled for dominance. But Eggsy was determined to keep his cool. He was a Kingsman agent after all, a professional. So if Harry Hart was going to pretend like nothing had happened, well...two can play that game. With a mask of indifference firmly in place, Eggsy tugged gently at the bottom of his suit jacket and started over. He stepped forward and knocked politely, hoping Harry would believe that his retreat was nothing more than attempt to correct his oversight and show he was in fact capable of knocking before entering a room. 

“Really, Eggsy?” came the exasperated response. Eggsy could see that Harry had moved. No longer framed by the high backed chair, Harry had gotten up and perched himself on the front of the desk during Eggy’s brief absence. A hint of amusement was still evident on the older man’s face, although it was now tinged with something else, as he watched Eggsy come into the room.

“Didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten everything you taught me. May I?” Eggsy asks in his most tempered accent gesturing to a chair. Harry nodded his ascent, still watching Eggsy closely. “So I take it you’re the new Arthur?” Harry just nodded once more. Eggsy waited for Harry to begin. Considering Kingsman’s love of traditions, he assumed there must be some special pomp and circumstance when a new Arthur is crowned. Maybe Eggsy would have to swear his allegiance or something. Whatever the protocol, Harry didn’t seem the least bit inclined to break the silence. 

_Jesus am I going to have to do all the talking?_ Eggsy couldn’t help but think. Aside from the scar on his temple, only half hidden by his Kingsman glasses, Harry seemed more or less intact despite the aforementioned head wound. And he’d already proven that he could talk just fine, sarcasm and wit still annoyingly strong. _So what gives?_

“Beg pardon?” Crap. Eggsy hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

“So you wanted to see me?” Eggsy asks tentatively. Now that he had Harry’s full attention, he wasn’t sure how long he could remain cool and composed. He had so many questions he wanted to ask. So many questions, starting with _how the fuck could you do this to me???_ and wasn’t so sure now was the appropriate time to ask them. Well, there may never be an appropriate time to ask that one, especially since he isn’t just Harry anymore. He’s Arthur, his boss, the head of a super secret spy organization, and a goddamn liar. Harry nodded once more, and Eggsy wanted to scream. But patience is a virtue. Eggsy could be patient. 

_Maybe._

Harry just continued to watch him while Eggsy suppressed the urge to squirm and fill the oppressive silence with babble. It’s unnerving to say the least. No more than 30 seconds had passed since he sat down, but it felt like an eternity. The panic was starting to creep back in. They hadn’t left off on the best of terms, to put it lightly. There was the whole argument about the dog test after all. 

_Maybe this is another test? Is he waiting to see if I crack, making sure I’m up to par? What if he doesn’t think I’m Kingsman material after all? Harry wouldn’t hold a grudge, would he--oh wait! It’s Harry. Of course he would! He clobbered Dean’s goons just for calling me a rent boy. I can’t imagine what he’d do to someone he was really upset with. It’d probably look a like the church in Kentucky when all was said and done. Come on! Just fucking say something!_ Eggsy’s heart began to pound: he was starting to feel warm and dizzy.

“So,” Harry began slowly, “what’s new?” Eggsy couldn’t help but let out a short, quick laugh--a noise that sounded more like a bark tinged with lunacy than anything else. Harry looked a bit taken aback, causing Eggsy to flood with relief. Catching Harry off guard always feels like a tiny victory. 

Harry continued to stare at him, expectantly this time. 

“Wait, was that a real question?” 

“As opposed to what, a fake one?” 

“Well...it’s just…” Eggsy sputtered incredulously. He didn’t know where to go from there. The last few minutes had been an emotional deluge: he suddenly felt exhausted and completely out of his element. The shock of Harry being alive was one thing. But to actively keep up this charade, pretending like nothing had happened, was just…ridiculous. 

“Eight months is a long time, Harry.” It came out softer than he would have liked, vulnerable almost. Eggsy couldn’t tell the man about every little thing that had happened since Kentucky. Although not a day had passed where something hadn’t happened, something he wished he could have shared with Harry. He imagined what Harry would say after listening attentively to Eggsy regale him with details after completing a mission: defusing a bomb in Moscow; assassinating a newly risen dictator in South America; stealthily preventing an uprising in the Middle East with Roxy at his side. He dreamed about what it would have been like to share another evening together, sipping martinis and discussing nothing and everything. There were even some mornings where he’d woken up excited for the day, briefly forgetting Harry was gone and having to relive the pain all over again. 

“Believe me, I know.” Harry at least had the decency for once to look appropriately cowed. He didn’t even look at Eggsy as he replied. Instead he chose to stare at the carpet, and Eggsy could feel his heart breaking all over again. 

Eggsy had been distraught over Harry once the V-Day adrenaline had left his system. The absence of the hormone left him feeling hollow and sluggish. Mixed with grief, it was a near-disastrous cocktail. Luckily being granted a position of a Kingsman, despite the bitter jab of serving as Harry’s successor in the role of Galahad, gave Eggsy enough to occupy himself most of the time. It was only when he lacked a mission and more pressing matters that his despair was able to take hold. All too soon his sadness gave way to anger, as it tends to do. He hated Harry for leaving him. He’d promised he would come back. Eggsy could dwell on this, yet another empty, undelivered promise and use his rage to fuel his missions. 

And now the very man that had caused all of that was standing before him, and Eggsy didn’t have it in him to be angry any more. It suddenly occurred to him that Harry looked every bit his 48 years of age. While before Harry had possessed the looks of a man several years his junior, time had finally caught up to him. Eggsy had always suspected some of Harry’s charm and swagger came from an illicit deal made with none other than Lucifer himself. No mere mortal could be so suave or look so damned good in a suit without a little evil intervention. But, Eggsy reckoned, vanity was a small thing to trade for a second chance at life. Resurrection is no small matter, mind you. And it seemed that even the estimable Harry Hart couldn’t escape death unscathed. He may still be sexy as hell--his new scar doing nothing to detract from his unnerving beauty and poise--but there’s no accounting for the unseen scars Harry had acquired in Kentucky. 

“I believe you.” It was all Eggsy could say. It was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What had started as a post-film, angsty Hartwin fic has now morphed into more of a character study of sorts. As a result the next few chapters will be more introspective and will include different character perspectives. Eventually I'll learn how to write dialog and chapters will become more dynamic...hopefully.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Harry's POV.

His ascension to the role of Arthur in the wake of V-Day and his…ordeal in Kentucky was an arduous process. Apparently being shot in the face, even by an eccentric megalomaniac with an admirable if not overly zealous love for the environment and an extreme aversion to gore, is kind of a big deal. Being presumed dead and then returning with little fanfare was an even bigger deal. _Apparently._

Harry has very little true memory of the events in the church. He can recall delivering a truly sensational “fuck you” to the self-righteous uppity blond woman--Harry will always be proud of his inventiveness in that moment even if the rest of day was rather regrettable. But once Valentine had activated his device, Harry’s account of the events that followed is virtually non-existent. He can’t actually remember skewering three people with a broken flag pole. Nor does he remember placing a lighter/grenade in the pocket of a man’s khaki’s before running him head first into the pulpit. But when he reviewed the footage, against Merlin’s vehement protests, it was like his body could feel the movements. It was as though his muscles had kept an account of his killing spree. 

Knowing that what he’d done under the influence of the SIM cards was etched into his very core was not a comforting thing. At the very least he hadn’t had to review each gruesome detail every evening as he slept, mercilessly killing night after night. But there were mornings when he woke to the feeling that he was falling, certain that he’d been unconsciously acting it out like some macabre nocturnal play. It could have been a lot worse Harry knew. In his line of work brushes with death were all too common. But death didn’t usually stare you down and mock you before pulling the trigger. 

Only a few agents had been lost in the 20 plus years Harry had been a Kingsman. But in most instances, death had been stealthy. Whether it was because of an agent’s own disregard for protocol, due to careless mistakes, or by pure accident, the loss had always contained the element of surprise, a sneak attack delivered via an undetected explosive, a hail of gunfire, or, of all things, being sliced in half by an assassin’s weaponized prostheses. Harry always suspected he’d die in the field. Having been more than a little reckless at times, it was a statistical anomaly that he’d survived this long. So long as he didn’t think about it too hard, the intangible concept of death had never been particularly scary. But staring down the barrel of Valentine’s sidearm knowing he had precious few seconds left and so many things he’d yet to do, Harry had been terrified. 

He’d always been not-so-secretly disgusted at how Chester had let himself go. Becoming soft around the middle while his snobbish and myopic ways harden had made Harry question his loyalty to the man more than a few times. And so Harry had vowed to never become old--to be a distinguished gentleman of a certain age was fine--but old and doddering, stuck in the past clinging to tradition and familiarity was simply unacceptable. His quest to be the exact opposite of Chester had inspired him to be particularly foolhardy at times, but up until then it had always worked in his favor, more or less. It’s true, a few missions had gone awry due to his incautious exploits but never so markedly. Yet, standing outside of that church under the negligent gaze of the bright, southern sun, it had seemed that his multi-decade string of good luck had finally come to an end. But then again...

While Valentine bemoaned the supposed failings of traditional movie villains, the lisping, power-obsessed, billionaire failed to see his own detrimental shortcoming: follow through. One would think a person couldn’t be anything short of ruthless to be as successful as Valentine. A media tycoon who fought his way up from the bottom would have to be able to do everything in his power to get to and stay at the top. Valentine clearly didn’t have a problem with committing genocide from the safe distance of his control room, but he was decidedly less certain when the weapon of choice was in his hand. For all his bravado and quaint little speeches, pulling the trigger was almost more than Valentine could stand. Checking to see if they bullet had hit its intended mark was clearly beyond what the man was capable of. Had Valentine possessed a stronger constitution he would have easily noticed that Harry, while injured, was far from dead.

The bullet’s trajectory and the brunt of its impact was deflected by the specially designed lenses of his Kingsman-issue glasses, sending the projectile skimming across his temple. The glasses had been damaged beyond repair but at least the same couldn’t be said for Harry. Other than the near-blinding pain, and the fact that head wounds, no matter how small, bleed profusely, the wound only looked far worse that it actually was. Despite losing consciousness somewhere between the bullet’s impact and hitting the ground, the steady rise and fall of Harry’s chest clearly indicated that he was alive. 

It was unclear who had called in the suspicious body bleeding out on the pavement, but Harry was rushed to the nearest urgent care facility by ambulance. An MRI determined that his injury was relatively minor all things considered--the brain swelling caused by the bullet’s impact was minimal. Harry was fortunate that the damage was mostly superficial: no surgery required. Just a few dozen stitches were needed to close the wound, and doctors felt confident that the patient--identified as one Mr. De Vere--would wake at some point of his own volition. Whether it would take hours or days, they couldn’t actually say. The hospital staff and armed police officers stationed outside his private suite would just have to wait for him to regain consciousness. They had a lot of questions regarding the fleet of slaughtered corpses in the local church. 

And then all hell broke loose. The extreme violence and chaos that flooded the globe as Valentine’s SIM card-induced frenzy decimated portions of the population was ghastly. The melee was unlike anything the world had ever seen. Of course Harry lay in his hospital bed completely unaware that apocalypse had come and gone while he recuperated. It was several days before he awoke, surrounded by the familiar white walls of Kingsman’s world-class medical facility pulled from the dreamless haze of sleep by Merlin’s mellifluous voice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Merlin's POV.

While his condition hadn’t been particularly severe, not to make light of being knocked unconscious for four days, Merlin had fretted about attempting to transport Harry across the ocean. Air travel, while commonplace, can be extremely risky for anyone in good health. For Harry it could have been disastrous. Six plus hours suspended over the Atlantic with only what’s on board at their disposal should something happen. It would be wise to wait. Merlin didn’t feel comfortable waiting

Watching Harry get shot ranked among the worst things he’d ever had to witness. As a Kingsman handler, he’d watched untold acts of death and destruction unfold and rarely struggled to shrug off something seen through his computer monitors. But watching his friend and colleague lose control in that church only to be put down like a rabid dog in the street had stayed with him. If not for the for fact that Harry’s admittance to the hospital had triggered an alert, thanks to the false identity used, Merlin was certain the visual would have plagued his unconscious mind for many years to come. 

Knowing that his friend was safe had create an eye of calm in the clusterfuck that the rest of the world had become. Chaos reigned supreme, and while Merlin acted as puppet master for Kingsman, he had no power over the rest of the world’s marionettes. Merlin couldn’t focus on Harry’s retrieval until after Valentine had been stopped--he had too many strings that tied Valentine to political and financial bigwigs to snip. Thanks to Eggsy and Roxy’s efforts, Valentine’s quest to alleviate the Earth’s fever with a new plague had been thwarted. There were casualties, of course, but really only a fraction of what the death toll could have been. With Chester gone, Merlin had carte blanche to act of his own accord and run Kingsman until all could be righted and a new Arthur could be instated. 

And even then he had no idea what Harry’s actual condition was. He may have been ensconced in the relative safety of whatever saint-named hospital he’d been taken to, but there was no telling what state he was in. How the hospital had fared during the massacre was unknown. If Harry was as unstable as Merlin assumed, given what little he knew about what had transpired, being neglected while staff went to war as the SIM cards were activated could have easily led to his demise. And whether there was anyone left to care or tend to patients was anyone’s guess. Merlin just couldn’t wait. Once Roxy and Eggsy were safely returned to the manor--tasked with laying low until told otherwise--he quietly refueled the jet, loaded any supplies he thought he might need, and set off. He didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. It was bad enough that he had a tremor of optimism pulsing at the back of his mind. 

Only 24 hours had lapsed since Valentine had done his SIM card trial run by the time Merlin touched down and made his way to the hospital. He’d done his best to prepare himself for whatever he would walk into. It’d been many years since he’d been in the field: this was tougher than any mission he’d ever been on. The hospital was absolute chaos. What few staff members he could spot were practically blurs as they rushed from one cluster of crying and bleeding people to another. Unwilling to draw attention to himself or away from those who really needed it, Merlin began to haunt the halls. He’d hacked the hospital’s system within minutes of getting that initial ping. He knew Harry’s room number and had the medical reports from when he was first admitted. But a lot can happen in 24 hours. He reminded himself of just that as he rounded the corner and spied his destination. 

Miracles of miracles, if it weren’t for the IV drip and heart monitor, it would have looked like Harry was just sleeping. His pallor had a grey tinge to be sure, but there was no mistaking the man before him. “Slacker.” Merlin muttered, before attempting to find an orderly and start the release process. The flight home was uneventful. Merlin, now fully aware of Harry’s condition and outlook, had plenty of time to ponder the next steps. Both Valentine and Gazelle had been taken care of, and now Harry had been retrieved safely and would undoubtedly make a full recovery: the next series of puzzles lay in how deep the Valentine conspiracy went. It was clear that the media giant had managed to sway a great number of important and powerful people to his way of thinking. With Valentine gone, who was left to take up where he left off? Who would replace all those who had accepted Valentine’s implant? 

These weren’t questions he could answer on his own. It would take time and lots of digging. The agents, of course, would be tasked with helping to restore order and ensure that Valentine’s plot had well and truly been foiled. Although Merlin couldn’t be sure that a corrupt agent wasn’t in their ranks and poised to undermine Kingsman’s efforts. It would be nothing more than a futile endeavor to attempt to quell this vicious cycle. Unless of course he had a secret agent--like an actual secret agent, one that one one else knew about--to quietly and oh so discreetly look into the rest of the agents and their affairs to ensure that no one else had secretly defected. 

Harry, while tight lipped and proper in many regards, wasn’t always known for his discretion when it came to information retrieval tactics. His “interrogation” of Professor Arnold was simply appalling. Storming in and demanding information, manhandling and threatening the poor bastard, Merlin wasn’t surprised Harry got nothing for his efforts (although the Professor’s head exploding had certainly been unexpected). A little part of Merlin thought Harry deserved to be blown through a window for his piss poor performance: one of Merlin’s trainees would never have been so tactless. And then Harry was hospitalized and comatose for several long weeks, and Merlin recanted his earlier sentiments. 

It wasn’t too difficult to secret Harry away. Their medical wing was almost exclusively overseen by Merlin himself, although they did have a small number of on-call doctors and nursing staff for post-mission patch ups. The Kingsman estate wasn’t usually crawling with people. The corridors were typically empty, even now that most of the agents were in house. Three were still mid-mission; ordered to finish up and report back for debriefing and their new assignments as soon as humanly possible. Those that hadn’t had missions were staying close in anticipation of a new agent joining their ranks to take on the title of Lancelot. Of course there wasn’t a lot to be joyous about. Any celebration would have to wait. Roxy would be unceremoniously ushered into the fold and immediately deployed with the rest to mend whatever is broken, quickly, efficiently, and quietly. Merlin had a feeling it’d be a long while before any of the agents had a rest. 

Harry would have the most difficult task, assuming he woke up soon and agreed, of course. Not that Merlin would give him much of a choice. Without an acting Arthur, the duties typically assigned to Arthur somehow deferred to him. He didn’t quite understand the workflow chart that led to him being saddled with this “honor” when a trusted field agent would be best suited and wouldn’t result in the entire organization imploding when he inevitably and spontaneously combusted from over-exhaustion and too much stress. 

Merlin felt confident that if or when his and Harry’s covert little mission succeeded, he’d easily be able to bully Harry into taking Arthur’s chair. They had joked in their early days about what it’d be like to takeover Kingsman--through all the proper channels of course, they weren’t in the habits of staging coups (unless they were absolutely necessary and for the greater good, mind). To Harry it may have been mindless, egotistical banter, but Merlin knew they made a great team, and if he kept Harry on a short leash they could make some amazing things happen. Now the idiot just had to wake up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still Merlin's POV.

Merlin gave Harry three more days. And for once Harry seemed to follow orders. The first time he woke it was just for a few seconds. Harry’s moments of consciousness were short and infrequent in the days following. Eventually his bouts of wakefulness came more often and were longer in length. As Harry became more lucid, Merlin spent more time sitting by his side, working remotely on his tablet, and continuing to run all of the agent’s operations. Progress was slow and sleep was infrequent: occasionally Merlin would kip for a few minutes at a time in the bed next to Harry’s but it did very little to refresh him. The agents were on constant alert, one mission after another all of which demanded Merlin’s attention. Being Merlin was a solitary endeavor. As a department of one, he could come and go as he pleased, rarely having to answer to anyone else or justify his actions. But it also meant that he was a commodity that was in great demand, and they were running a deficit. It was taking a huge toll. 

Of course those around him would never say as much, but the sheer amount of furious anxiety that radiated from Merlin since V-Day was growing stronger by the day. It was distracting and terrifying. The man was a force to be reckoned with on any given day. When he was particularly stressed out, he was downright ghastly. And he had eyes everywhere, which put everyone on edge. He could see all and was loathe to tolerate mistakes. Everyone was walking on eggshells and chugging antacid. If seemed safe to say that the four days following V-Day were the most trying that Kingsman had ever faced, and it wasn’t all due to grand-scale massacre that had taken place.  
Unlike the rest of the agents, Merlin’s job rarely included opportunities to shoot things or hit people--the classic go-to Kingsman stress relievers--so most of the time he settled for yelling at people and cursing as loudly and creatively as possible. Merlin was just finishing another exquisite string of profanities when he had the unmistakable feeling his was being watched. 

“Feel better now?” Harry croaked, his throat undoubtedly dry from disuse. Merlin gave himself a moment to stare in astonishment before he rushed forward to get Harry a glass of water, relief evident on his face. Merlin’s ministrations are rewarded with a slight nod and a quiet thank you before the room slips into a looming silence. 

“If this becomes the norm, we’re going to have a problem. You can’t keep falling into a coma at the first sign of trouble, you know. It’s unprofessional.” Merlin joked.

“It’s the only way I ever get to take a vacation. You should try it some time. Here, “Harry picked up a hardcover book from the table next to him raising it up, “I’ll help you.” Merlin’s poker face only fell for a split second, barely noticeable but for the wary amusement that flickered in his eyes. “You look like shit, you know.”  
“Aye. But what about you? How are you feeling?”

“I have a slight headache--I’ve already taken some aspirin--but otherwise feel remarkably well all things considered. I’m sure a doctor could give you a better idea of my condition, not that I’ve seen one since I woke up.” Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly. Merlin remained quiet.

“Okay, out with it. What aren’t you telling me, Merlin? Last I remember Valentine was...well…” Harry let the sentence fall. “And now I’m here.” There was an upwards inflection to the simple statement that signaled Harry’s puzzlement. Merlin would have rathered complete a full medical workup before broaching the topic of Kentucky. But doing so undetected and without a significant number of expensive and obtrusive machines and an actual medical professional would be impossible. And he felt he owed Harry the truth, the absolute and complete truth.

“You’re at the mansion in a private, seldom used part of the medical ward.” Sensing that his explanation did little to clear Harry’s confusion he opted to start at the beginning. “After the church...” Merlin paused unsure of how much detail to go into. Harry, impatient as ever, bobbed his head forward, eyebrows raised in a very clear ‘yes, yes get on with it’ motion. Merlin let out a long-suffering sigh. He suddenly felt even more tired, something he didn’t think was remotely possible. Taking the seat next to the bed, Merlin hunched forward, elbows on knees. He took off his glasses, setting them on the side table next a few books and the now mostly empty pitcher of water, and rubbed his eyes before going on. It took Merlin what felt like days to recount everything that had happened and his plan for moving forward. There certainly was a lot to cover. Harry, to his credit, simply listened only hmming here and there to signal he was following along, although Merlin knew the man would have more questions than he had time to answer.

“So...will there be a funeral?” Merlin was gobsmacked by Harry’s first question. “If I’m supposed to be dead the least you could do is have a little memorial in my honor, as my oldest friend and all. Nothing to extravagant of course. That’d be gauche. But a nice service wouldn’t be too much.” It was rare for Merlin to be unable to tell if Harry was joking or not. This was one of those occasions though, so instead he chose to ignore his friend’s asinine request and pushed forward.

“I’ll take that as your formal acceptance.” Merlin stood. “I’ll be back within the hour with some real clothes and better instructions.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Eggsy's POV.

Eventually Eggsy got the whole story, even if Merlin had to be the one to tell him. In retrospect, he could understand the need for discretion. Being unsure of the extent of Harry’s injuries, not knowing what conditions were like at the hospital post-massacre, and having little clue about how deeply Valentine had infiltrated Kingsman, Merlin had acted as he saw fit. Eggsy got that: he understood.  
He really did.

Merlin had laid it all out for him, much like he’d done for Harry. Never before had the need for a ghost agent been more necessary, and they’d been handed a gift of sorts: it was the silver lining to Harry’s predicament. Harry could move undetected--with Merlin’s aid--and completely review each and every Kingsman agent, support staff member, and resource. It was an important endeavor. It was a necessary precaution. It was a tedious work. 

It had taken months, eight to be exact. And once Harry had finished assessing Kingsman’s agents and assets, he was brought back from the dead only to transcend his former position and be exalted as the new king. He was granted the title of Arthur, leaving most of the agents considerably less than pleased at being duped once more by their leader. Even though he could logically comprehend Merlin’s decisions and Harry’s actions, Eggsy counted himself among the disgruntled but for a different reason. 

From the moment Harry had lain waste to Dean’s goons, Eggsy had wanted to trust Harry explicitly. Eggsy didn’t trust easily. He had needed more convincing. And somewhere along the way, between the pub, the shop, and the estate, he had gotten whatever it was he was looking for. Harry had earned his trust only to throw it back in Eggsy’s face. Harry’s words had been rash, filled with anger and disappointment. There was pity too, that Eggsy was sure of. Harry felt it and so did he, knowing how easily he’d been swayed, duped. It had never been about him. It had always been about his father, about Harry repaying a debt and assuaging his own guilt. Eggsy felt used, once again. The betrayal hurt more than his grief, and the mourning process alone had been enough to almost ruin him. 

He wasn’t angry. His rage had evaporated, but the hurt remained. Nevermind that Harry had come back, as promised. More or less. He was too late to sort everything out for Eggsy. Eggsy had gotten on just fine without him for months. But there was still plenty for him to fix, and Eggsy hoped their rapport was on that list. They had been building towards something more than just colleagues, he was sure. He wasn’t entirely certain what that meant however. There had been a fondness, an intimacy of sorts, between them. It was comfortable and easy. And now it was definitely broken. Supposedly time heals all wounds. But a fucking apology would have gone a long way to helping. Eggsy would had accepted Harry’s apology, however late it was in arriving, but it never came about. Instead it was shy, floating in the pauses between Harry’s word, lingering at the end of Harry’s gazes. It was implied, but it was not forthcoming. And that wasn’t quite enough. 

The rest of his and Harry’s conversation had been decidedly less awkward, but it certainly wasn’t as convivial as it would have once been. Eggsy felt his hope wane even further. Eggsy filled Harry in on his last few missions, even though Harry no doubt was already familiar with his endeavors. He was Arthur after all, and the mountains of paperwork that always followed a mission, even the successful ones, were his to pursue and approve. Nonetheless Eggsy recounted his victories with poorly tempered fervor. 

Harry in turn divulged very little. There was no epic tale of surviving being shot in the face. No awe-inspiring journey from death’s door back to the land of the living. Instead Harry dismissed Eggsy’s initial question with a wave of his hand, and Eggsy knew better than to press. Something was off, but with tensions running high--what with being international spies tasked with saving the world day in and day out--and the added pressure of being the man in charge after a considerable absence, he had to cut the guy some slack. He was preoccupied, although his demeanor verged on detached. _Just give it time, Eggsy. Patience is a virtue, remember?_ Eggsy was starting to think he’d found a new mantra. 

Too bad the rest of the agents weren’t so peacefully inclined. Choruses of shouts and insults, often times including the words “bullshit” and “backstabbing” floated across the Kingman estate. No one was self-possessed enough to talk quietly and send assessing glances like good little gossips. Oh no. They had no qualms about letting their displeasure be known. Eggsy was genuinely surprised by their behavior. He had expected scathingly polite, tight lipped, and unbearably repressed remarks whispered behind backs. What he got was just shy of a declaration of war. It was anyone’s guess what Harry--Arthur--thought about all of this. Outside of swift and solemn meetings--briefings and debriefings and the like--he was all but sequestered, hiding away in his office. Eggsy longed to check in with him; see how he was doing, assure him that not everyone felt betrayed, even if it was mostly a lie. He knew what was being said and wasn’t above listening at doorways just out of the line of sight. 

“He is not fit to be Arthur! And Merlin has neither the right nor the authority to arbitrarily assign a the position to him.” Bedivere was at it again. He seemed to be the main source of discontent. He was agitated, to say the least, and hell-bent on ensuring that every last agent shared his opinions and perspectives on Harry’s instatement as Arthur. 

“I would hardly call Merlin’s decision arbitrary.” Roxy’s voice was even and clear. “And I assure you it was well within his power to do what he did. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve grown tired of listening to you prattle on about this. Perhaps if you found a new topic to be enraged about, you’d have a more captive audience.” With that Roxy was striding to the door. She showed no sign of being the least bit surprised to find Eggsy eavesdropping. She simply raise and elegant eyebrow but a fraction of an inch and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. It was her way of reminding Eggsy that this wasn’t his fight, that Harry was perfectly capable of dealing with petty malcontents. Roxy made her way down the hall, book in hand, clearly intent on finding somewhere quiet to read. It wasn’t the first time Roxy had simply walked out during one of Bedivere’s rants. It most likely wouldn’t be the last. Sadly, her passive protest of his treatment of Harry didn’t do anything to deter the rest of the riled agents. He simply changed tactics and started anew. 

“Kay you can’t honestly tell me you trust that man. We all knew Chester was a shady character...” This was news to Eggsy and probably everyone else. It was a firmly held belief that Chester had been nigh infallible. “But Harry Hart? He’s a little too smooth, a little too polished,” Bedivere expounded suspiciously, completely undeterred. 

“He’s a Kingsman for crying out loud. What do you expect?” Lamorak jumped into the verbal fray. “A man like him,” Bedivere pointed sharply, “is the archetype of calm, collected, and in control. He never goes into a fight without a backup plan for his backup plan. He wants you to believe that it’s all for the sake of the organization, for the good of the world or some such bullshit. But you can bet your ass he makes sure the outcome will be in his own best interest. He would happily tell anyone who would listen that he always has a card up his sleeve, just in case.” 

“So you’re saying this was all a grandly orchestrated plot, a coup if you will, to seize control of Kingsman? And then what?” It was Percival’s turn to cast doubt and aspersions to Bedivere’s rant.  
“It’s not as though that’s a particularly far-fetched idea. Kingsman is little more than cloaks and daggers funded by great-granddaddy’s money.” Bors was showing definite signs of being swayed by Bedivere’s argument. 

“Oh come now.” Percival was clearly annoyed. Eggsy share the sentiment and then some. Eggsy balled his fists and tried to count backwards from ten. He was sorely tempted to hit something, or at the very least to storm into the room and grab Bedivere by his lapels and shake him violently. He settled for ripping off his tie, loosening his collar, and storming down the hallway but not before hearing Lamorak’s closing argument. It made him see red. 

“You keep on about Harry and this dastardly powerplay of his like he’s a cunning fox, bidding his time, waiting for the hen house to be unguarded. But we know different. He is rash and crude. Just look at his last two proposals! That’s proof positive that he doesn’t think things through. He doesn’t have it in him.” 

“But he has Merlin!” Bedivere countered loudly. And that was enough. Eggsy may have had beef with Harry, but he’d always believed Merlin to be above reproach. He couldn’t imagine a more upstanding man in the history of Kingsman. Merlin was the agency’s voice of reason, the agency’s compass. He was their lifeline, their saving grace whenever they went on a mission. If he couldn’t be trusted, if they honestly and truly didn’t trust him, there was no hope left. 

The agency was divided. There was no way to sugar coat it. Harry and Merlin were on one side, although Harry--not Merlin who had unfortunately set all of this in motion--was receiving the brunt of the agents’ ire. The agents, save Eggsy, Roxy, and possibly Percival were on the other side. Percival, out of deference to his candidate-cum-agent, refrained for adding to the mutinous fire that was burning under Harry’s ass. He was clearly less than pleased and shared an attitude much closer to the rest of the agents than to Roxy, but he was still capable of listening to reason, It was a skill that seemed to be lacking around the table these days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I haven't forgotten this fic. I've developed a case of writer's ADD and keep jumping from one fic to another, so I have nearly a dozen (across multiple fandoms) that are currently in progress. But I'll try to be better, I swear!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV

“Very well. That should be all,” Harry declared. It was meant as an obvious dismissal, and he did nothing to conceal the notes of resignation in it. His head was pounding, and he was failing quite spectacularly to keep a hold of his temper. He had tried counting to ten, but between Bedivere’s snide comments and the complete disaster that the mission had been, Harry was sorely tempted to tell them all to sod off and call it a day. 

It was hardly his fault that Bedivere had failed. It was Bedivere’s own negligence, a faux pas if you will, that was outstanding enough to garner suspicion and that led him to getting caught. And were Harry and Merlin lesser men, they would have let him stew a lot longer before sending an extraction team. After suffering through a meeting where Bedivere continually insinuated it was Harry’s leadership that had led him astray and not willful incompetence, Harry was regretting that the rescue had been successful. Of course Harry was enough of a gentleman to wait until the the door closed with Bedivere on the other side to say as much.

Merlin only nodded in reply, reached into his pocket, and set a bottle of Advil on the table. Harry looked at his friend, eyebrows high in question.

“I don’t suppose you have a stiff drink in your other pocket. I’d quite fancy drinking until I can’t remember today.” Things had just started to simmer down. Many of the agents had abandoned their ill-conceived grudges against Harry. Well that’s how it appeared outwardly, yet after several days of smooth sailing things had taken a turn for the worse. Now that Bedivere, the most outspoken and unwieldy agent had gotten hurt in the field, there could very well be backlash. Oh how he loathed this thankless job. It was all fine and well not having his name in the paper and going unrewarded by the public when it was him in the field, but sitting behind a desk being so far removed from everything and not even having his hard work acknowledged by those he was tirelessly working to support was starting to drain on him more than ever. 

“You know that’s not going to happen. You have reports to finish, and I can hardly read your handwriting when you’re sober. You sloshed is just asking for trouble.”

“A man can dream, can’t he?” Harry asked with all sincerity.

“Of course, so long as he doesn't lose sight of reality,” Merlin replied, completely unwilling to indulge Harry’s pity party. 

“That’s highly unlikely in this instance. Your ability to crush dreams and send them quivering away in fear is legendary. Of course reality isn’t much fun these days, I’m afraid, and that’s precisely why expensive liqueur was invented.”

“You know, as well as I do, that most of the staff has come around. I will admit, it was a bit touch and go there for a while, but the number of abject dissenters is down to two--Bedivere and Kay--and I believe Kay has been distancing himself from Bedivere and his over ripe opinions for sometime now. You have Eggsy to thank for that, by the way. He’s been pouring as much effort into campaigning for you as Arthur as he has in his missions. It hasn’t won him any admirers, even those who weren’t against you taking the role of Arthur wonder whether his loyalty lies more with Kingsman or with you alone.” 

“Eggsy should be careful. It won’t do to have agents suspicious of him too. He’s too good an agent to be brought down by pettiness. 

“He’s also too good an agent to let something like this get to him. He doesn’t care about winning respect from his peers. He’s spent too much time just trying to keep his head above water while running around the streets to give a shit what other people think about him, unless of course that person is someone he’s close to.” Merlin raised his eyebrows and pointed sharply at Harry, hoping his meaning would stick.

“I always suspected he had a thing for you,” Harry joked for lack of a better response. He wasn’t blind, despite having one less eye than the average man, nor was he stupid. He simply did not want to have this conversation. No matter how many times Merlin attempted to bring it up, as a friend and a colleague, Harry was loath to go down whatever path this discussion was likely to put him on. Harry knew that a simple deflection wouldn’t work, but he could still enjoy the deep scowl Merlin gave him in response. And he could still try to change the subject entirely. “How’s Roxy doing?” 

“She’s an excellent agent, as you know full well. She’s also a piss-poor means of deflection. Considering how close she and Eggsy are, bringing her up is hardly a good way to steer this conversation in a new direction. However, I’ll humor you, if you insist.”

“And I do.”

“She has excelled at every task put before her, which is only a surprise to the most antiquated bullfrogs still left at the table. In addition to her commendable field performance, she has proven herself to be a remarkably loyal friend to Eggsy. Being in direct competition for the position of Lancelot, and the events that followed afterwards, did little to deter their sense of camaraderie both in the field and in their personal lives.”

“They definitely do seem to work exceptionally well together,” Harry observed with a pinched look on his face. It was a hard acquiescence to make.

“Yes, they do, and no amount of drinking on your part will change that,” Merlin announced almost cheerily. He seemed to be intimately aware of Harry’s true feelings on the matter--darn him--and enjoying watching Harry suffer. Merlin was a bald-headed, sweater-wearing bastard. 

“So we’ve come full circle. I guess that means it is time for you to leave.”

“Hardly, so you can wipe that pained expression from your face and stop feeling sorry for yourself. I’m not buying it. Roxy and Eggsy are closer to brother and sister than anything else. Eggsy’s propensity for being fiercely loyal and forgiving extends beyond just you and your giant ego. You know things would actually be easier for once if you stopped hiding in your office and just spoke to the lad.”

“And what would you have me say, Merlin?” Harry asked with an uncharacteristic resignation. There was a vulnerable honesty to the question, the kind that can only come from knowing exactly what to do but resenting the hell out of having to do it.

“Hello, how are you on this fine day isn’t a bad start,” Merlin joked. 

“It seems a tad impersonal, don’t you think?” was all Harry could think to ask in response. 

“You, Harry Hart, are hopeless.” Merlin shook his head in dismay. Harry had never wanted for what to say or do in any given situation. He was gifted with the ability to make quick decisions and was right more often than Merlin was willing to admit. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t know what to do, he simply didn’t want to do it. Shying away from whatever issue persisted between him and Eggsy just seemed like the kindest route. If he could avoid confrontation until it just went away that would be for the best. Lord knows he’d had enough confrontation in the last few weeks to fill a very long, robust lifetime.

“Be that as it may, hopeless or not, I am still your boss. Don’t you have work or something you should be doing?” There was an obvious _instead of harassing me_ tacked on to Harry’s question. 

“Or something,” Merlin deadpanned before turning to leave. The both of them knew that Merlin’s workload was never ending. He worked long hours and could always use more time in a day. Merlin turned back and looked at Harry for a long, hard moment. “Seriously just talk to him, if for no other reason than to keep my sanity intact. I cannot have yet another bloody conversation where he attempts to coyly extract information about how you’re doing.”

“We’ll see. Just keep in mind that you’re the one who trained him. It is hardly my fault his interrogation techniques aren’t up to snuff. Perhaps you can lend him some thumb screws--no subtlety needed with those.”

Merlin rolled his eyes once more and left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Harry’s headache had faded some, but it threatened to flare back up as he considered Merlin’s advice. Despite the occasional poor choice concerning how much was an acceptable amount to drink in their younger days, Merlin rarely steered him wrong. 

But Eggsy had already been drawn unfairly into the fray. Yes things were on the mend, and Merlin’s advice had been somewhat sound. Keep your head down was the invaluable advice Merlin had tossed his way weeks ago. Harry had scoffed at the simplicity of it and declined to comment on how that was easier said than done. It was terrible advice, or so he’d thought. Keeping your head down only gave your enemies a better chance to sneak up on you. He’d had plenty of those in his years at Kingsman. He’d devoted a good chunk of his life to ensuring he wasn’t shot, blown up, or worse. Now his greatest worry was being stabbed in the back. Even if that likelihood was diminishing with each and every day, Harry hadn’t shared Merlin’s confidence that it would all blow over completely. 

When he’d just been Galahad, Harry had enjoyed the luxury of cheering for Eggsy as his proposal. Watching him best the other recruits and rise to the top had been one of his proudest moments. The screaming match after the dog test had been, conversely, one of his least. Now as it stood, with him in the role of Arthur and his every move being criticized, he couldn’t afford to be biased. Eggsy was simply an agent, nothing more, nothing less. He couldn't’ curry Harry’s favor nor could have have Harry dote on him even as a mentor. As much as he wished he could, Harry was not about to play favorites. Chester had been the sort of man to do so: he’d make it well known who was his favorite and expected agents to jockey for position and work hard to gain his favor. Harry had never been inclined to play such a game. He thought it was wildly inappropriate much to Chester’s eternal chagrin and wouldn’t dare to mimic the same grotesque behavior. Giving Eggsy the same wide berth that he’d given the rest of the agents as he kept his head down was the best way to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been almost a year since this updated. I promised I was still working on it, and I am. At this point I have almost all of the remaining chapters written. They just need to be edited and posted.
> 
> NB: this is unbeta'd, so I apologize if there are any mistakes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's POV

The mission was going exceedingly well. It wasn’t much of a surprise given that it was Eggsy carrying it out. It was a disservice to him to credit his success to his youth, but it undoubtedly played a valiant role. Eggsy’s determination was a fifty-fifty split between the bravado that came with being young and inexperienced and the training he’d received. He was a quick thinker, a fast study, and unbelievably determined. When Eggsy put his mind to something, he could not be swayed. He’d see it through to the end no matter what. It often worked in his favor, but at times it was foolhardy. Knowing when to pull back, reexamine, and find a new solution or path, was something that came with time and practice. It wasn’t always something people could master even with time. It was an art, not a science as the saying went. Harry wasn’t great at it, but it was Merlin’s job to do it for the agents when they can’t do it for themselves. 

In this instance, he’d tried his damnedest. Clearly whatever Harry was doing about Eggsy--in this case inaction was definitely an action in itself--wasn’t working. It was just making things worse. Eggsy and Harry both tried not to show it, but the agents were trained to pick up on small details, file away bits of information, and piece together clues. It was literally their jobs, so they all knew something was going on. It wasn’t a secret that Harry and Eggsy had been pretty close before V-Day. Harry’s brief stint in the hospital wing, following the good professor’s head exploding, had certainly called to light the sort of intimacy that was blooming between them. Even as mentor and candidate they had a link that brought them close. It was something that everyone could see and it often defied the strict lines of propriety that ought to have existed to keep their stations within the organization intact. 

Merlin understand Harry’s weariness to not let those lines blur. He couldn’t afford more talk; things were already tense enough. But there was no denying the truth because a truth ignored simply grew and grew until you suffocated under its mass. Eggsy wasn’t going anywhere. He’d chosen death over deceit because it meant being with Harry. That wasn’t a farce, it wasn’t just talk, and it wasn’t something to be taken lightly or swept under the rug. That blind devotion had been instilled the moment Harry had interfered with Dean. It had made Merlin fear what would happen if Eggsy didn’t make it. He hadn’t thought about what would happen if the roles were reversed--it hadn’t occurred to Merlin in a very, very long time, that Harry might not return from a mission. He’d always seemed bullet proof, even without the suits, and then the unthinkable happened. 

Now watching Harry--back from the dead like a miracle--not taking a hold of the second chance he’d been given and living like there was no tomorrow was mercilessly painful. So he’d been honest and had refused to stay quiet about how he felt about all of this. Merlin was known for lurking. He stayed in the shadows and kept quiet. He always had an opinion but knew better than most when to and when not to voice it. That was also a skill not every man could master; never mind the ones who knew better but chose not to exercise caution. He’d never worried much about speaking his mind or attempting to be tactful with Harry. He could be as blunt as he wanted, and Harry would give as good as he got. It was part of what made them a good team and part of what made other people unsure if they were friends or enemies. Sometimes he wasn’t so sure himself, but in this he was obligingly doing his best friend duty and trying to get Harry to get his head out of his arse. It didn’t seem to do a lick of difference though. 

Harry rarely heeded his advice outright. No, he settled for adopting some of Merlin’s ideas and corrupting them until they were intangibly his own. Then he’d put them into practice. It came in handy when things went sideways, then all the blame could squarely rest on Harry’s stubborn shoulders and stay far, far away from Merlin and his excellent, level-headed guidance. 

In truth, Harry had been keeping his head down, and the agents had, predictably, calmed given time. Most of them had come around long enough ago that they no longer bore the telltale, sheepish signs of embarrassment at their previous dissension. Instead they proudly sat at the table, backs straight, heads held high, and glasses sitting primly on their noses. They listened, they agreed--usually--and they went about doing their jobs. It was a hefty relief for things to be mostly back to normal. 

The disparity lie in Harry’s demeanor. He’d shrunk in the last few months. He didn’t occupy a room the same way he had before. Nor did he seem as inclined to show off, be snarky, or raise hell for his own amusement. If it weren’t for the fact that he was a grown man in his fifties, one might say he’d finally matured, but Merlin knew better. It was unfair to say that Harry had lost his confidence, far from it actually. He had no problems commanding a room when necessary, and he’d taken admirably to the role of Arthur which Merlin never doubted him capable of doing. It was just that everything he did was lacking its typical Harry touch. It was painful to watch as a colleague and friend. 

He’d hoped that belaboring the point and getting Harry to stop denying himself a little bit of fun--and possibly a lot a bit of something even truer--would snap him out of it. Of course the one major thing Harry would retain despite all else would be his stubborn streak. So Harry had talked to Eggsy. They’d had a lovely conversation that was unerringly polite and stiff about the roast Eggsy’s mum had made for Christmas. It had been painful to watch, quite frankly. The worst of it had been Eggsy’s face when Harry had nodded his goodbye and exited the conversation. The lad had clearly been as confused by the whole thing as Merlin was frustrated. If he’d still had hair, Merlin would have been pulling it out by the roots. For now he settled for mumbling to himself about what a bumbling fool Harry was while there was no one around to listen.

Eggsy had been diligently running interference, working on Harry’s behalf without being asked, to get the agents to shut their gobs and get back to work. The world was a mess, although getting better by the day, and they couldn’t afford to sit around with their thumbs up their asses quibbling about trivial things. Of course the harder Eggsy worked to convince the others--and quite likely to get Harry’s attention or at least his good favor--the further Harry pulled away. It was so much less than what Eggsy deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbeta'd. I apologize in advance for any errors. 
> 
> Also I'm ALWAYS looking for more Kingsman blogs to follow. Come find me on [Tumblr](www.cheerios-and-pocket-lint.tumblr.com).


	9. Chapter 9

It had looked so effortless when other people did it: he knew it wasn’t like the movies. But watching Harry in action at the pub or Roxy in the field had made it look like a finely crafted art form. Eggsy had thought he’d mastered the essentials, had worked his way from bumbling neophyte to kick ass agent. He’d had the basics down, and then everything went to shit and no amount of hard work or patience seemed to make a whole lot of a difference. Even when Harry came back things didn’t really get any better--whatever plateau he’d been reluctantly resting on took a huge dip. He’d been working is ass off to get the other agents to shut the fuck up and get in line, and now things had stalled again. 

_It should be easier than this_ Eggsy kept telling himself. It was practically a chastisement. He’d gone through the training, passed the interview albeit with a few hiccups along the way, and earned his suit. He cleaned up well, stayed polished, and did right by his seat at the table. He gave his all during missions and attempted to do the same for Kingsman as a whole. He started by trying to put out the fires erupting all around him after Harry came back. The world had been in utter chaos and turmoil and the lack of unity among the other agents had exacerbated that hopeless feeling that nothing would ever be the same. 

He was so tired of all the sniping and gripping, it was like dealing with a pack of stuck up little kids who’d missed nap time. He was exhausted from it all. Listening to them bicker constantly and question everything was getting on his last nerve, and the stress of it all left him unable to sleep most nights. It had been months, and while progress was being made, it didn’t feel like it. He felt like he was back at square one, flying by the seat of his pants as a naive recruit. The voice in his head told him he should be able to handle this. He was an agent now for Chrissake, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he was way in over his head. 

Roxy had been aces when it came to listening. She did what she could to be there for him, she was a good friend that way, but she had her own stuff to deal with. She also took a much more neutral path when it came to the other agents. Roxy wasn’t willing to bog herself down in their petty squabbles and backstabbing. She was always an eyes straight forward, focus on the job at hand kind of gal. It was that level of determination and single-mindedness that had made her the kind of woman she was today. Proud and regal and the perfect Lancelot, she had no time for the other agents’ problems. She was there to do her job, and while she listened intently when she could and doled out advice when asked, Eggsy was very much on his own when it came to defending Harry. Even Merlin had taken a backseat--which admittedly was his usual way--and convinced Harry to stay low, duck and cover as it were, and wait for the storm to pass. And it was passing. In fact it had almost completely passed. Relations between the agents were much better than they had been. Eggsy liked to think that he’d helped with that. He’d been working overtime trying to talk some sense into anyone who would listen. Now it was just Bedivere hellbent on being an ass, and Harry’s selective reclusiveness that he had to deal with.

The division between himself and Harry had only gotten worse. Harry’s amicability among the other agents had risen until it reach a semblance of normalcy, but he was decidedly icy when it came to Eggsy. It was grossly unfair, and it hurt if Eggsy was going to be perfectly honest. There was no sense of familiarity between them: they may as well have been strangers. Eggsy would have let himself believe that the bullet from Valentine’s gun had ripped out any memory Harry had of Eggsy and the time they’d spent together while Eggsy was a recruit, if it weren’t for how obviously Harry was working to ignore him. It wasn’t as though their rapport had evaporated overnight; instead, Harry was making a concerted effort to avoid Eggsy at any cost. 

When Harry suddenly reappeared after months of everyone believing he was dead, he and Eggsy had talked. It’d been brief but helpful. Eggsy had been blindsided by the whole ordeal and more than a little too focused on his own feelings about everything, but it had seemed that they had come to an understanding. Eggsy had left that room believing the past was in the past, and they’d move forward on a positive note. That made it hurt all the more when Harry completely pulled away. With the other agents at each other’s throats and doubting Harry’s legitimate claim to the position of Arthur, Eggsy wanted to lend his support. If there was ever a time that Harry needed someone to lean on, that was it, and Harry had completely refused to let Eggsy help directly. So Eggsy had taken it upon himself to do everything that he could. The harder he worked, the more he was ignored. And the more he was ignored, the less it bothered him. He was a grown man, an adult, he could handle being rebuffed and still be professional about it. Any aid he’d lent Harry was for the greater good no matter what. It was selfish of Eggsy to expect anything in return, especially since his whole job as an agent was about doing the right thing and never expecting any accolades. Harry had taught him that, and Eggsy had taken it to heart. That didn’t make it suck any less.

“What should I do Rox?” Eggsy asked, thumping his heading against the back of the couch in utter resignation. Roxy closed her eyes. Eggsy guessed she was counting and praying for patience. They’d only had this conversation about a million times in the last few months, but that was before Harry had given up the pretense of not deliberately avoiding Eggsy and hiding behind the guise of being too busy to chat. He’d now graduated to very obviously and intentionally ignoring Eggsy if this morning was anything to go by. Harry had turned on his heel and strode purposefully in the opposite direction when he saw Eggsy several times since their very stilted conversation just after Christmas. And then this morning, he’d pretended, albeit completely unconvincingly, to have forgotten something to avoid sharing the shuttle to the estate with Eggsy which meant Harry was 30 minutes late for Eggsy’s debriefing. 

Eggsy was exhausted and just wanted to go home. Instead he’d sought Roxy out so he could have someone to complain to. 

“Honestly Eggsy I don’t know.” Roxy admitted somewhat solemnly. “I thought giving him some space, time to settle in would help. Now I think think you just have to let it go. You did the best you could. It’s time to move on.” Those were not the comforting, reassuring words Eggsy had been hoping to hear. Up until now, Roxy had indulged him by offering soothing advice and listening quietly, all the while assuring Eggsy it would be okay. 

“Roxy, you don’t understand!” Perhaps Eggsy was being a bit melodramatic. “It’s Harry! I can’t just give up.”

“Eggsy…”

“I know okay. I _should_ just let it go, but I can’t.”

“Then what do you plan to do instead?” It was a reasonable question, but nonetheless it wasn’t one Eggsy had an answer to. He wasn't much of a planner--he had Merlin for that when it came to missions. And while Merlin was truly an expert at what he did, Eggsy wasn’t about to ask Merlin’s advice on this endeavor. It was bad enough he had eventually stooped to trying to weasel updates on Harry from the man, not that Merlin ever told him anything. Eggsy had been hopeful that if he’d appeared inept enough and fumbled tragically while trying to extract info from Merlin, Merlin would take pity on him and set his mind at ease. Eggsy, of course, hadn’t counted on Merlin being such a tight-lipped bastard which really was a gross oversight on Eggsy’s part. 

Eggsy stared at Roxy, pondered the question, and hoped she’d come through once again with a brilliant suggestion. It appeared she was completely content to let Eggsy parse this one out for himself this time. Time passed and the every moment of silence that lingered left Eggsy feeling like he was backsliding towards hopelessness. 

“Fuck it, if he doesn’t want to talk to me, well too damn bad. I’m going to make him,” Eggsy declared. He took a deep breath and turned to leave. He was going to find Harry and talk to him once and for all. 

“Good luck!” Roxy called after Eggsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is unbeta'd. I do the best that I can to catch them before I post, but I'm terrible at proofreading my own stuff. Feel free to message me on [Tumblr](http://cheerios-and-pocket-lint.tumblr.com/) to point out any typos or just say hi. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


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